


one clover, and a bee, and reverie

by possibilityleft



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alien Culture, F/M, Feet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:06:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilityleft/pseuds/possibilityleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favorite trio ends up accidentally married.  Or sort of accidentally.  Plus Martian culture, a lot of sarcasm, and some terrible attempts at sharing feelings.</p><p>  <em>"No," Croach said.  "Because you showed us your feet.  And you have seen mine, and Red's.  And I have seen Red's feet."</em></p><p>  <em>He glanced at her.  Sparks said, "Too much information."</em></p><p>  <em>"I am only providing this much information because you seem to need it," Croach said.  "I believe this onus is equivalent to the human custom of "marriage."  Is that not correct, The Red Plains Rider?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	one clover, and a bee, and reverie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perrysian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perrysian/gifts).



> I started writing this as a Yuletide treat sometime before Christmas and recently found it again and thought I might want to finish it. This turned into writing like 3500 words in 4 days. Thanks for commenting on my Yuletide letter! Believe me, I didn't forget about your friendliness. :)
> 
> Although I made some attempts to avoid contradicting anything we've heard in canon about Martian culture or about various character histories, I know I was not completely successful, especially since I just listened to episode 196. Please forgive me for this.
> 
> The title is from an Emily Dickinson poem, To make a prairie.

 

> We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness - and call it love - true love. --Robert Fulghum, _True Love_

 

 

 

 

Sparks Nevada had been through a lot, a _lot_ with Croach the Tracker and The Red Plains Rider, including plenty of life-threatening situations. Croach had died, and Red had almost died, and he'd been in plenty of scrapes before.

But he was almost entirely sure that he'd never hurt quite this much before. Darkness was beginning to creep into the edges of his vision, and he wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he couldn't hardly feel his feet anymore at all.

"Sparks!"

Red's face spun into his field of vision. She was biting her lip and looked mighty upset. Sparks tried to reach up a hand to brush her cheek and reassure her, but his limbs didn't want to cooperate. He groaned instead.

"Hold on, you idiot," she said. "Hold on!" Somewhere far off, Sparks heard the twang of Croach's quantum bow. He could feel Red's hands move down his legs to grasp his boots, and then Croach spoke, and he wasn't far away at all. That made Sparks feel better. Croach must have gotten that dirty ambushing robot bandit, or he wouldn't be here.

"The Red Plains Rider!" he said. "You can't remove the boots of Sparks Nevada!"

"They're full of blood, Croach, he's cut something deep here. If I don't get them off now and get pressure on the wound-- well, we just have to! C'mere and get the other one!"

"But--"

"No arguing," Red said. Sparks's head was swimming and the feeling was coming back into his feet as his companions removed his boots. It was nauseously unpleasant.

"Gross," Croach said, before consciousness was jerked out from under Sparks, and he passed out.

*

When Sparks woke up, he felt like he'd been run over by a whole herd of hyper-cattle, but he figured that meant he had a pretty decent chance of still being alive; being dead probably wouldn't hurt that much.

He cracked his eyelids and immediately a shadow fell over him.

"Sparks Nevada, you are awake. I can tell with several of my senses that you have ceased sleeping," Croach said, and Sparks had never before been so glad to hear the Martian's mild voice.

"Well, I did open my eyes," Sparks said, and although his mouth was dry and he could hardly do more than whisper, it felt good to do that much.

"Are you utilizing human sarcasm?" Croach asked, and Red answered for him.

"When is he not utilizing it is a better question, Croach," she said. "How are you feeling, Nevada?" She was being uncharacteristically gentle, which worried him. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. Both of his feet were covered by a sheet, but they did still seem to be there.

"Looks like I'm all in one piece," he said to Red, "so I'd consider that a good sign. You want to fill me in on what happened while I was dozing?"

Red lifted her eyebrow at his choice of words, and that made him smile a little. Maybe he liked to provoke her a little more than was warranted, but she made it easy. The both of them did, really.

Croach opened his mouth and Red elbowed him hard. His expressionless face somehow conspired to look hurt; Sparks thought it was the angle of the antennae (he was getting pretty good at figuring that out, if he said so himself).

"Well," Red said, and Sparks wanted to comment on the elbowing since it wasn't much like Red unless she wanted to roughhouse, and he didn't see any opportunities for that right now, but he let it go, because the part of him that had kept him alive for so long as the marshal was tingling, and he was thinking that Croach had something to say that he was not going to like hearing. Red was probably trying to find a way to break it to him gently.

He wondered if those were his own feet underneath the blankets, or just carefully placed fakes. He tried to wiggle his toes and was relieved when they responded and the blankets shifted.

"Croach got off a good shot right before you passed out, but you were losing an awful lot of blood. Lucky you didn't lose a foot, the doc said when she patched you up."

Sparks frowned. "How in the heck did Brass Cassidy get ahold of that booby-trapped punishment soccer ball, anyway?" he interrupted.

"There's no askin' him because he's dead," Red said. "You're lucky you didn't try to field it with your head, that's what I'm saying. Anyway, in order so you didn't die, we pulled off your boots and bandaged you up enough to throw you back on your horse and get you back to town. That was about a day ago. Doc gave you something so you'd sleep for a while, since she knows you'll be back on them feet too early anyway."

They knew him too well. Sparks immediately thought of several chores he'd been meaning to accomplish this week that he was now going to have to put off. He hated laying around.

"The Red Plains Rider, you have omitted an important detail," Croach said.

"Oh, right," Sparks said, "how long am I supposed to be laid up? Got marshalling to do. Can't let Croach have all the fun."

"I am not "having fun," Sparks Nevada," Croach corrected him. "I am fulfilling my onus."

"About onuses," Red cut in, hastily (which was for the better, really, because they could go on for a while, especially because Sparks wanted to feel like everything was normal again, and that meant antagonizing Croach).

"Yes, about onuses," Croach said. Then he paused, and he looked at Sparks without saying anything. Sparks blinked.

"You're in one now," Red said. She looked at him too, and Sparks wondered if he used to have some kind of psychic ability that he forgot about while he was unconscious, or if his friends just didn't understand how to communicate like normal beings. Probably the second one.

"Croach is," Sparks said; "he won't shut up about it. As you might have noticed."

"No," Red said slowly, " _you_. And me and Croach. Are in onus together."

"What, because you saved my life?" Sparks asked. He was a little exasperated and let it show in his voice. He was tired, not feeling quite right, and they were talking in circles.

"No," Croach said. "Because you showed us your feet. And you have seen mine, and Red's. And I have seen Red's feet."

He glanced at her. Sparks said, "Too much information."

"I am only providing this much information because you seem to need it," Croach said. "I believe this onus is equivalent to the human custom of "marriage." Is that not correct, The Red Plains Rider?"

Sparks jolted upright in shock and would have gotten up from the bed if it hadn't caused him a wave of pain. Red gave him a look that was only partially sympathetic.

"We'll talk about it more when you get better," she said.

"I'd rather talk about it now!" Sparks said. He didn't realize how hard he was clutching the bedsheets until he realized that his hands were hurting, on top of everything now. "I didn't agree to marry you! Both of you! How could I possibly--"

"I just explained it," Croach said, and Sparks gritted his teeth.

"Doc!" Red called, "Doc, I think he needs more pain meds! Right now!"

Sparks did not want more pain meds, but by the time he'd explained that to the doctor, Croach and Red had slipped out of the room.

The meds he hadn't wanted sent him into an uneasy sleep.

*

When he woke up again, the sun was setting and there was someone blocking most of the red light coming through the little window that was on the opposite side of his bed. He only needed a glance to know that the person was Red. She was staring out at the plains and he wondered what she was thinking. It had been... what, five years, at least, since she had turned down his offer of a deputy's badge and walked out of his life the first time. Ever since, he'd never been able to tie her down for long, and neither had Croach. But that was her way, and he couldn't begrudge her for it.

She'd been gone for a few months, escorting a stagecoach through Martian territory, before he and Croach had met up with her to face the bandito. Even though her relationship with Croach was going well this time, she was hard to pin down for very long. It had worked out for the best, maybe, since she hadn't been there when he and Ginny.... well. He'd needed some time after that, and it wouldn't have been fair to Red to catch her up in his relationship mess again.

"I imagined all that, right?" Sparks said, and Red started, which surprised him a little. She must have been thinking pretty hard if she hadn't noticed he was awake.

"I reckon not," she said, turning around to face him. It was hard to read her face in the shadow.

"Isn't there a, a ceremony or something? Don't you need to make a lot of casserole and stand around in your best clothes and repeat something nice from a preacher?"

Red shook her head. "It's private, showing someone your feet. You remember."

Sparks remembered. Definitely. Not only the weird experience of seeing Croach's feet, but seeing Red's, which had felt just as intimate, but much more pleasant. At least partially because they hadn't had an audience with a gun pointed at them.

Sparks grunted. Apparently it also didn't matter that the occasions had happened years apart, and all members of the party hadn't even been present except for the last time. Or maybe that was the key to it, although he was pretty sure Croach and Red had kept their shoes on that tiem. He had no idea how any of this worked.

And he still hurt all over.

"We don't have to..." She hesitated, shrugging and then crossing her arms across her chest. "Make it a big deal. I'm pretty sure I can talk Croach out of a throwing a Celebratory Event."

"Please do," Sparks said immediately. "But... gently," he added, remembering the last party Croach had tried to throw, and that was something else he didn't want to think much on. The three of them just had too much history for this.

Or maybe the right amount, if they'd _planned_ this, and hadn't managed to get married accidentally so that he didn't die. There certainly weren't any two other people he trusted as much. But he really hadn't planned on getting married on purpose any time soon.

And it felt weird. He kept looking down at his feet in a kind of accusing way, as if they'd gotten him into this instead of the robot outlaw Brass Cassidy.

Red shifted her weight from one hip to the other. "Gently," she agreed. "He's stuck trying to pick good colors, anyway."

Sparks squinted at her. She was not being sarcastic.

"That would be difficult," he agreed, after a moment's consideration, after considering their respective color schemes. There was another good reason not to pursue this. Well, a reason, at least.

"I think black would work pretty well, but it's not much for celebrating," Red said, and then she shook her head. "That's not the point. Are you all right?"

"I'm itchy," Sparks said, "but I don't think that's what you mean."

"Take your time, you aren't going anywhere," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. It made him feel better.

"Thank you for saving my life, Red," Sparks said.

"Any day, Sparks," Red said, and her boots were loud on the hardwood floor. "Make sure you thank Croach, when you see him."

She leaned down close to the bed. He could smell the sour-sweet smell of her sweat, and something nice -- he never could figure out what it was, just that it meant Red to him. She kissed him on the cheek. His heart swelled up, just a little bit. Red always did that to him. He reached up to stroke her hair, but stopped himself.

"I'll be back later," she said, straightening, and left without another word. Sparks watched her go.

"I'm married to her," he said to himself in the silent room, as the twin moons began to rise.

*

The next few days passed slowly. Sparks slept a lot, and when he was awake, usually Red or Croach were around to talk to him. They didn't talk about the marriage, not at all. Red shared town gossip and Croach talked about old times and brought him any paperwork that needed to be done. The doctor had a small selection of novels, and some of them weren't written by Rebecca Rose Rushmore so he felt all right reading them. He even received a holo-letter from his parents, which didn't mention anything except that Red had told them he was hurt, and they hoped he'd get better soon.

He was still bored, though, and finally he convinced the doctor that he was well enough to go back to the marshal station and finish recovering there. He could get around okay on space crutches, and he could call Pemily if anything big came up and Croach needed the assistance.

He was still bored, but it was a more comfortable boredom at home. The only problem was that he had more time to think.

"I have wrangled the missing hyper cattle," Croach said, coming into the marshal station. There was a distinct hoof-shaped bruise on his forehead that faded while Sparks was watching.

"You can take it off your onus," Sparks said absently, tapping his pen on the desk. He was working on a crossword, trying to keep his brain sharp since he couldn't do much with his body.

"I am not calculating our onus any longer," Croach said, sitting down and wiping some Mars dust onto Sparks's nice clear floor. "A thank you would be sufficient."

"Say what?" Sparks said. The pen slid off the desk but he ignored it in his surprise. "I thought that was -- your _thing_."

"It is my "thing," as you call it, but onus is no longer calculated between partners in a marriage relationship," Croach said. "It is assumed that a mutually beneficent onus will continue until the death of one or more members."

It was the first time that Croach had mentioned the change in their relationship status since the initial revelation.

"I have a question about that," Sparks said, trying to seem casual, as if he hadn't been thinking about it for days and days while he was laid up close to home.

"Yes, Sparks Nevada?" Croach said; he might have sounded hopeful, a little, which was weird.

"If all that needed to happen was us seeing each other's feet, then why weren't you already married to Red? Or uh. to me, because of that time we never ever talk about?"

Croach blinked. "My people prefer to marry in groups of three or more. It makes raising offspring much easier when there are several adults to handle them, of course. Don't humans do the same?"

"No," Sparks said, "definitely not. Nope. So what, you and Red had a thing, right? So you had a third person in your thing?"

"We were both betrothed," Croach corrected, "to Bofene the Uncertain, but unfortunately, she was unable to commit herself to a relationship."

"Uncertain? What kind of job is that?"

"It does not entail decision-making," Croach answered. "She is great at debate, however."

Sparks was silent for a moment.

"But you would have married her, both of you, if she'd wanted?" he asked.

"We were betrothed," Croach said, as if the answer was obvious. "Martians are not like humans, who seem primarily to marry for the sake of "love." We are much more practical."

"You don't have to pretend that you don't understand the concept of love, Croach," Sparks said, because he was becoming annoyed again. "I know Martians aren't supposed to have emotions, but you aren't very good at it."

Croach bristled. "I am very good at it. There's no need to be snippy, Sparks Nevada, just because we ended up becoming married. It is not the way I would have chosen to commit myself, or the way I expected to do so, but I am trying to make the most of it."

Sparks rubbed at the bridge of his nose. No emotions, right. And then he had a thought about the other major life event they had nearly shared: parenting.

"You kissed him, though. Jib Janeen, when he was pretending to be me," Sparks said. He wasn't sure why this was so important to him (or rather, he didn't want to think about why). "How did that happen? Did he just say, "Croach, old buddy old pal, smack one on me!" and you did?"

"Yes," Croach said. "It was not one of my favorite experiences. Human kissing is distasteful."

"But you still did it."

"That is correct," Croach said.

"And you didn't think it was strange?" Sparks asked. "Me suddenly asking you to kiss me?"

"I did," Croach said, sounding a bit affronted, "but you -- he -- said it was very important for secret reasons."

Sparks scratched the back of his neck. "That does not feel like a very convincing argument," he said.

"I do not wish to talk about this further," Croach announced.

"But--"

"You should honor my wish, Sparks Nevada," Croach said.

That's when Red came into the marshal station, shouting on about danger, and Sparks hauled himself up on his horse and followed his companions (deputies? spouses?) toward it.

*

"You shouldn't have come," Red said into Sparks's ear. They were pinned down behind some boulders, and lasershot was occasionally pinging past them to strike the red dust harmlessly. Some squishy part of Croach was pressed up against Sparks's back and he was really trying to ignore it, because there wasn't a lot of room back here and fighting with each other would not help the situation. His feet hurt since he'd crammed them into his boots in a hurry, and the boots didn't really fit right with the bandages. The doc had told him he really ought to be resting for the next week or so, but the pounding in his heart was doing him good, he thought.

"I couldn't let you and Croach go into this alone," he replied to her, fumbling around in his pockets in hopes of finding more lasershot for his own guns. He knew he didn't have anything else on him, but he looked just the same.

"I agree with The Red Plains Rider," Croach said into his other ear. "You should be recovering from your previous injury, not courting further damage that may take extensive time to heal."

"Well, I'll just get back on my horse and go home, then," Spark said, "since everyone seems to know what's better for me than me."

"Your horse has been shot," Croach pointed out.

"Thank you, Croach," Sparks said. "I guess now I have to stick around and help you out."

Red sighed.

"Look," Sparks said, and he knew he was courting danger of a different kind, "I'd never let you guys walk into a firefight without me. That's not how -- I don't do that. Even if you'd heal up quicker than me."

"You are an idiot," Red said affectionately, and he leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back, clutching at his collar, and it was just as nice as he remembered it being, back when they had dated.

"Was that all right?" he asked, uncertainly, when the kiss broke. Croach sighed loudly.

"Although I am pleased that you are working out your human feelings regarding this marriage relationship," Croach said, "it seems more sensible to solve our immediate concerns, specifically this shoot-out with robot outlaw Blackjack Steam."

"He likes it when you pet his antennae," Red said, and although Sparks wasn't always good at catching signals, he did get that one. He reached over and stroked Croach's antennae, which was kind of nice, actually; they were all velvety. Croach shivered.

"Are they making out?" a robotic voice said, from way too close, and Sparks jumped up and fired the last two shots in his gun. Red and Croach reached just as swiftly, and he wasn't sure who had been the one to get in the first shot (although probably it had been Sparks, since that was his thing after all, but of course it would have been okay if they'd beaten him, just this once).

"Nice shooting," Sparks said to them.

Red nodded back at him.

"Now would be a good time to have the discussion," Croach said.

"Really?" Sparks said. "Because--"

Before he could protest any further, Red and Croach sat him back down on a nearby rock, a hand on each of his shoulders, firmly.

"Do I have to convert?" Sparks asked.

"We aren't Orthodox," Croach said. "Which should be obvious."

"And I ain't never been particularly observant anyhow, seeing as how I have better things to do," Red said. "More importantly: are we actually going to do this? Properly? Our way, but official-like, where we tell everyone else."

"Well, I've been thinking," Sparks said, "we've gone around and around on this so many times I get dizzy. But always in pairs. What Croach was telling me about marrying in threes, that might actually work out."

"It cannot be any worse than my last marriage," Red said.

"I liked Cactoid Jim," Croach said, and Sparks tried to get up just so they would focus back on him and forget about arguing over that super-annoying Cactoid Jim.

"You and everyone else," Red growled, but she pushed Sparks back down on the rock, and then she sat down too, and began fussing with her boots.

"Red Plains Rider, are you removing your shoes?" Croach asked.

"Ain't nothing special to you," she said, but she was blushing anyway. "You've seen my feet."

"You are incorrect in that assumption," Croach said. "They are still special."

"Croach is right," Sparks said, softly. Then he shook his head. "I am not getting a foot fetish," he announced to no one in particular.

"Shut up," Red said, and the three of them took their time alone for a while before heading back to town.

*

"Finally," the Barkeep said, when they told him.

"Young love!" Felton said, with a glance at Widow Johnson.

"If you let me out, I'd be your best man," Blackjack Steam said. After they'd finished with their discussions, they had hauled him back to the marshal station and locked him up, but he was really making planning difficult. Sparks was definitely going to deactivate him until the trial.

The thing was, no one seemed too surprised, and the other thing was, Croach was actually pretty good at decorating. He'd done an awfully good job with all the flowers and the tulle and the other trappings of a good celebratory event.

"Speech!" someone in the crowd called, and other townsfolk picked it up, so finally Red and Croach pushed him Sparks forward to do the talking.

"This is not where I expected to be, when I agreed to come to Mars," Sparks said, after a moment's consideration. "Didn't expect to have a deputy, didn't expect to think of Mars as home, and I didn't expect to end up married here."

"You don't have a deputy," Croach said.

"Nope," Red said, shaking her head.

Sparks sighed. "Point is, here I am, and I aim to keep riding the galactic trail as long as I can, but now I'm not doing it alone. Not anymore. That's all I want to say."

"That was the third worst speech I have ever heard, Sparks Nevada," Croach said.

"The honeymoon is over," Sparks said to him, and before Croach could ask what a honeymoon was, or how they could procure it, he looped his arm around Croach's neck and said, "Let's have a drink. Non-alcoholic for you, some whiskey for the lady, and space beer for me."

They made it all the way to Tuesday, peacefully, before they had to hit the road again, but they just pushed their bedrolls together that night and looked up at the stars.


End file.
